


Wearing thin the heart beneath

by TheJediAreGay



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec and Clary bonding, Because she's cool, Canon Divergence - Max dies, Lightwood Sibling bonding, Lydia Branwell & Alec Lightwood Friendship, M/M, Magnus Bane is a good boyfriend, So much angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-16 00:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11242275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJediAreGay/pseuds/TheJediAreGay
Summary: Max is killed in a small coup staged by a few remaining Circle members. While the Institute is thrown into a state of chaos and the Clave half-heartedly investigates, the rest of the Lightwood siblings cope the best they can. Or in Alec's case, not at all.





	1. Magnus

Valentine Morgenstern was executed, ironically, on Friday the 13th.

No tricks, second chances, or body switching spells could save him. He was killed in the traditional Shadowhunter way. First, he was stripped of his runes, a process that is known by all creatures in the Shadow World to be as painful as it is humiliating. Then he was struck down by a seraph blade, just as he did to countless Downworlders in the days of the Circle. Unlike most Shadowhunters, Valentine did not receive the posthumous honor of having his remains interred in the City of Bones. Instead, his body was disposed of in an undisclosed location. The monster lurking in the shadows that has been the subject of late night horror stories amongst Downworlder children for years is gone. Over a decade of terror ended in one swing of a blade.

Magnus Bane is still not satisfied.

The High Warlock doesn’t know what he expected to feel when he received word that Valentine was executed. Relief, maybe? Happiness? Maybe he expected to feel a shift in the air, as if the entire world had changed because of this one death. He certainly didn’t expect to still be stewing over all the events that took place weeks before. But here he is, draped across his couch in itchy pajama bottoms, a drink in hand, and not a drop of makeup on his face.

He feels nothing.

The whole body switching fiasco was exactly three weeks ago now, and Magnus still hasn’t quite returned to his old self.

For one, he hasn’t put on eyeliner in days.

And for another thing, he saw Alexander for the first time in three weeks only four days ago.

Magnus had been militant in his resolve; he needed space. He needed time to remember who he was before his life became so entangled in Nephilim drama. He needed to repress the memories of his mother and stepfather that the agony rune dredged up from the dark recesses of his mind. Most importantly, he needed to remember what it was that made him pursue Alec in the first place before he could pick up his phone and give him a call.

After a very short, very tense phone call, the two agreed to meet in Central Park. They sat on a bench near the pond and absentmindedly tossed chunks of bread at ducks, a situation which Magnus would find terribly romantic if it weren’t for the circumstances. Instead, it was painfully awkward. The two sat on opposite ends of the bench and remained completely silent, both waiting for the other to speak. And Magnus wasn’t going to be the first one to speak. _He_ wasn’t the one who needed to earn back _Alec’s_ trust.

It took exactly 6 minutes, by Magnus’s count, for Alec to speak up and break the tense silence hovering over them. Magnus expected him to apologize profusely or place all the blame on himself, in typical Alec fashion. That would be nothing he hadn’t heard the last time they’d seen each other, and both were the last things Magnus needed to hear.

Instead, he just asked, “Are you taking care of yourself?”

And Magnus instantly remembered why he had fallen so hard for the idiotic Nephilim warrior in the first place.

Since then, they have been rebuilding their relationship slowly and steadily. Magnus is still struggling to freely give Alec his trust with the memory of him shattering it is still so fresh in his mind. But Alexander makes him happy; happier than he can remember being in over a century. He’s had thousands of lovers, but none that he felt this strongly for; at least none that felt that way in return. No, he’s not forgiving Alec for him.

He’s forgiving Alec for himself.

Now here he is, two days after Valentine’s execution, and he feels just like he did three weeks ago. He should be out at Pandemonium, drinking his famous martinis and celebrating the bastard’s death with hundreds of other Downworlders who _aren’t_ busy planning on uprising. He should be sending Alexander a series of congratulatory texts with a long string of exclamation points and emojis, just because he knows his technologically-challenged boyfriend hates them so much. He should at least put on some damn makeup, a lightweight bb cream at the very least.

The man who has been directly responsible for the deaths of so many of his people is finally dead himself. This should be the best day of his entire damn life.

But Valentine’s death doesn’t get rid of the flashbacks he’s been having for weeks, every time he looks at the blade his mother used to take her own life because she couldn’t stand the sight of her little half-demon bastard.

Chairman Meow’s paws bearing down on his chest bring him back into the present.

“Hello, darling,” he coos, scratching the beautiful tabby behind the ears affectionately. “Did Papa forget to fill your milk bowl again?”

Chairman purrs loudly in response, which Magnus takes as a “yes”. He likes to consider himself somewhat of a cat whisperer.

With a snap of his fingers, a milk bowl appears on the coffee table in front of him. Chairman’s fleeting affection leaves Magnus as he hops onto the table, focusing only on the milk. After the whole Iris incident, Chairman is now the only cat Magnus keeps. The strays that all somehow found their way to his balcony were all given good homes with various warlocks, vampires, seelies, and oddly enough, some werewolves.

But even with just one cat to care for, Magnus has been neglecting his “cat dad” duties lately.

A knock at the door scares Chairman away from the milk bowl, making him dart underneath the couch.

 _‘Always such a skittish little thing,’_ Magnus thinks.

He stretches out and grabs his phone off the end table to check his calendar. He swears he didn’t schedule any clients for today, and Alec knows better than to just show up unannounced right now. Sure enough, the only event that pops up on his calendar is “ANNUAL WARLOCK STRIP POKER GAME AT CATARINA’S”.

He makes a mental note to shoot her a text later with some sort of lie as to why he can’t go. Maybe she’ll fall for the chlamydia excuse again.

Whoever’s at the door knocks again, this time louder. Magnus groans and gets up off the couch with some difficulty.

“Coming, coming!” he shouts.

With another quick snap of his fingers, he’s dressed in his usual sleek, stylish apparel and has fresh makeup on. He doesn’t care how bad he feels. He’s spent over a century building his larger than life reputation in this city, and he’ll be damned if he lets _anyone_ see the High Warlock of Brooklyn looking any less than downright _intimidating_.

He storms up to his door and swings it open.

“WHO DARES DISTURB THE HIGH WAR-…”

The words die in his throat.

Clarissa Fairchild stands at his door. Her bright red hair is askew about her face, sticking to her sweaty skin. Blood drips down her cheek from what looks to be a fresh cut, and a tear in her shirt reveals another cut on her stomach. Magnus recognizes the fight in her eyes, a glint so uniquely Shadowhunter that he sees in Alexander’s eyes whenever something or someone threatens his loved ones.

_Something’s very wrong._

Screw that vow to stop helping Shadowhunters.

“Biscuit, come in and take a seat,” he says, beckoning her inside.

She stumbles past him and collapses on his couch, breathing heavily. He cocks his head to the side, giving her another glance over. She’s dripping in sweat, which is getting all over his nice suede couch. Did she… _run_ here? All the way from the Institute?

“What’s wrong?” he asks, sitting down next to her. “Do you need some water? Capri Sun? Vodka? A Xanax or two?”

She groans, placing her head in between her legs to catch her breath. Magnus waits patiently and pats her on the back, but anxiety is already overcoming him. All he can think of is Valentine’s massacre at the Institute three weeks before, not knowing if any of his Downworlder friends were deal or alive, not knowing if _Alec_ was dead or alive. He knows Valentine is gone, but when one monster dies, there’s always another ready to take their place.

Clary takes a big gulp of breath and looks up at Magnus with wide eyes. With her curly red hair sticking out in every direction and her chest rising and falling rapidly, she looks almost feral.

“Envoys… from the Clave…,” she gasps out. “They were… Circle… sympathizers…”

Magnus is already up out of his seat and ready to go. His magic overflows and sparks at his fingertips in little red flames.

“What. Happened.”

Clary wipes the sweat from her brow.

“I’m not even completely sure,” she admits. “Jace told me last night that we were gonna have a visitation from the Clave again, like we did when I first came. After the whole…”

She gives Magnus an apologetic look in advance, and he knows exactly what she’s about to bring up. He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the very fact that he’s sitting here listening to her instead of creating a portal and appearing outside the Institute. Pity is a waste of time.

“… After the whole body switching incident, the Institute is under investigation again. But this time it was a _group_ of envoys from the Clave. About ten of them. I wasn’t even paying attention to it. I was busy training with Izzy. Then I heard a crash and a lot of yelling…”

She pauses, furrowing her brows as if trying to gather her thoughts.

“I don’t know who it was who screamed, but Izzy and I grabbed our seraph blades and ran towards the sound. It came from the armory. The Clave envoys… Magnus…”

Magnus has to clench his fists to keep his magic from bubbling up in the form of red sparks. With every word that comes out of Clary’s mouth, he fears she’s building up to bad news.

“They were just mowing our people down,” she says, her voice cracking. “The way they fought was so uninhibited. I thought Jace had no regard for his safety, but it was nothing compared to _them_. It’s like their only goal was to kill as many of us as possible, even if it killed them in the process. Alec hit one of them in the shoulder with an arrow, and he barely even flinched…”

Magnus kneels in front of her as soon as Alec’s name leaves her lips. He reaches out and grips her shoulders, desperate to hear his name again.

“Is Alexander okay?” he asks, fearing the answer.

When Clary nods, the relief is so instant that it brings him down to his knees. Though he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that he should inquire about Jace and Izzy, his main concern is and will always be his Alexander.

“Oh, thank Lilith…” he whispers, letting go of Clary’s shoulders and resting his head in his hands.

“Magnus… Max snuck out of his room to see what all the noise was about.”

He raises his head and braves a look at Clary’s face. It’s grim and expressionless, and she doesn’t have to say anything more for him to know what happened.

“They didn’t care that he was just a little kid. They stabbed him right through the chest. He didn’t stand a chance.”

Silence falls over the two, during which the only sounds that fill the loft are Clary’s labored breaths.

Selfishly, all Magnus can think about in the moment is Alec. He thinks of how much he adored his baby brother. All the plans he made for Magnus to get to know Max better than Magnus only half listened to at the time seem so much more glaring now.

“Why did you come to me?” he finally asks.

“We need as many people as we can get to heal the ones who are injured,” she admits. “And in case you haven’t noticed, Warlocks aren’t exactly lining up to help us right now.”

Magnus smiles mirthlessly. So he’s back to being the Institute’s pet warlock. He can decide whether or not he cares later.

“One portal coming right up, Biscuit.”


	2. Alec

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should just mention beforehand, even though I think it's kinda a given, this chapter contains mentions of blood and gore. It's Alec's POV post-battle, so there's a lot of carnage. I think I'm going to keep doing this POV switch thing. I think I'm going to keep it mostly Magnus and Alec's POVs, but who knows? I may do a chapter from Izzy or Jace's or even Clary's POV.

Alec may not remember how it started, how long it went on, or how many people he struck down, but he remembers what he was doing when it all began.

He and Jace were in his room, lounging on his bed. It had been a calm day so far. There were no demon infestations or rouge werewolves to be taken care of. Calm days are so few and far between these past few weeks. Alec treasures them when they come, because he knows the chances of the next day being the same are few and far between.

In retrospect, Alec should have known the peace and quiet were just a precursor to disaster.

Alec and his parabatai were discussing things of little importance, like a book that Alec read last week and a funny hookup story that Jace just _had_ to spill. It felt good to be with Jace without fear, anger, or anxiety emanating from his parabatai rune. Lately, it seems the only times they were together were during battles. It was nice to just… _be_.

Jace was in the middle of telling Alec about how much progress Clary was making in her training when they both heard a muffled bang and scream from somewhere in the Institute. The two were up, alert, and rushing out the door in seconds.

The brothers ran towards the sounds of screaming and clanging metal. After that, Alec remembers only select parts of what occurred. It’s not uncommon for him to black out during a mission and have no memory of what happened hours later as he wipes demon ichor off his arrows. Fighting for him is muscle memory; he’s been doing it for so many years, it’s no longer something he needs to think about.

Somehow, he made it to his bow and arrows and managed to steal a seraph blade off one of his attackers. Bits and pieces of the fight stick in his mind. He remembers firing an arrow at a big burly man who was charging at him. He remembers being knocked into the wall and hitting his head. He remembers Izzy screaming something at him.

What else happened is anyone’s guess.

Now he stands, staring at the carnage left in his wake and wondering: _what the fuck just happened?_

The fight is over for now, or at least Alec _thinks_ it is. There are no more battle cries or sounds of seraph blades clashing against each other in the heat of combat. All that is left is faint cries of pain and the distant, but deafening sound of blood pumping in his ears. His hand drifts down to press on the parabatai rune through his shirt, which pulses with worry.

_He has to find Jace._

The fight started in the armory and spilled into the training center, leaving bodies scattered all along the way. Alec takes a hesitant step forward, his foot landing in a puddle of someone’s blood. He’s not sure whose. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he forces himself towards the training center.

The first thing he does as he exits the armory is scan the area for a head of golden blond hair. He knows Jace better than he knows himself most days; he can most definitely spot him in a sea of bodies. He just hopes to Raziel that he won’t.

Much to Alec’s revulsion, he comes to a point where he has to step over the prone form of a fellow Shadowhunter in order to proceed. Against his better judgment, he glances down at the man’s bloody face.

He’s seen him around the Institute a few times. He’s an older man, about his father’s age. If Alec’s remembering correctly, the man has a wife and a few kids back in Idris. Alec glances down at the man’s feet and sees an abandoned seraph blade, completely coated in blood.

He’ll have to get in contact with the man’s widow later and tell her he died an honorable death.

A calloused hand lands on Alec’s shoulder, and he can instantly feel his parabatai rune alerting him to Jace’s presence. Though he knows he would have felt if Jace had been killed, he still lets relief rush through his body and into Jace’s through their bond.

“Alec…,” Jace breathes out. “Are you okay?”

Alec turns on his heels to face his parabatai. The golden blond hair that he was searching for is encrusted with dried blood. He spots a wound on his scalp that is just large enough for Alec to become concerned that he may pass out from blood loss before he can apply an iratze.

Alec places a hand on Jace’s cheek, tilting his head to get a better look at the gaping cut on his scalp.

“ _I’m_ fine,” Alec insists. “But _you_ don’t seem to be.”

Jace gently slaps Alec’s hand away. The younger man has always hated being coddled.

“It’s nothing,” Jace argues. “I can fix it myself later, _Mom_.”

Alec rolls his eyes. He knows better than to even attempt to argue with Jace when he’s still hyped up from a battle, so he just resolves to focus on their bond and intervene if he feels too much pain coming from Jace’s end. He doubts Jace would dare show a sign of weakness even if he was seconds from passing out.

His parabatai is such an idiot sometimes.

“We have to find the others,” Jace declares with a fierceness in his voice. Alec knows exactly who he’s referring to; Isabelle, Clary, and their mother. All Shadowhunter lives are important, but those three are the only ones in the Institute they feel directly responsible for.

Well, besides Max. But he’s safely tucked away in his room.

Alec nods and pats Jace on the shoulder.

“Way ahead of you, brother.”

He pushes bodies aside with his foot, clearing a path for them to walk across the training center. The two of them aren’t the only ones searching around in the chaos; Alec spots several Shadowhunters he only vaguely knows stumbling around, gripping onto each other like they’re keeping them anchored to the ground. Others are rushing to apply an iratze onto their wounds. Some are just barely alive and still twitching on the ground, surrounded by their own blood.

It’s the biggest disaster Alec’s ever seen in his life.

Amongst the death and destruction, Alec spots a woman coming towards him. The usually tightly braided hair is loose and knotted and tears run down her cheeks, but he recognizes his mother immediately.

“Mom,” he murmurs, reaching out to gather her into a hug.

She launches herself towards him, holding on tightly to her first born.

“By the Angel, I’m so relieved,” she sobs. “I was so worried when I didn’t see you two in the training center. I thought… oh thank Raziel you both are okay.”

Alec shoots a glance at Jace and finds his brother is as lost as he is. Neither of them are used to seeing their mother show this much emotion. The only other time Alec can remember seeing her cry was when she admitted that Robert was cheating on her.

He gives his mother one last pat on the back and then breaks away from her hold.

“Mom, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She just stares at him for a few seconds with her mouth open and no words coming forth, like she just doesn’t know what to say. Then her face crumples and fresh tears start pouring out of her eyes.

“Alec…,” she whispers. She gulps and looks up, blinking quickly to get rid of the tears.

“Where are Clary and Izzy?” Jace cuts in.

Their mother finally takes a deep breath and composes herself. In the moment, Alec can see remnants of the woman who co-ran the Institute for decades. Despite her haggard state, she exudes the kind of strength that Alec has always strived to copy.

“I sent Clary to find War-… _Magnus_ Bane. Some of our people obviously can’t be healed with just iratze runes.”

Alec and Jace share a quick look. Neither missed their mother’s attempt at civility towards Alec’s boyfriend.

“And Izzy?” Alec presses.

His mother’s face falls, and Alec’s heart goes along with it. He thinks of his younger sister, who still hasn’t quite recovered from her addiction. She’s still regaining her strength, day by day. What if someone managed to get the jump on her?

He desperately tries to recount details about the battle and whether or not he saw Izzy. He remembers hitting his head against the wall. Izzy screamed something, but his head was ringing too loudly to make out her words. What if she was screaming for help?

“Maryse,” Jace chokes out. “Where’s Izzy?”

Their mother wrings her hands together, bringing Alec’s attention to them. They’re sticky with blood, but there’s no visible wound on her body. It must belong to someone else.

“She’s okay,” his mother reassures him. “Just… follow me.”

They do as she tells them, stepping over bodies and brushing past other Shadowhunters who are barely keeping themselves upright. She leads them away from the training center and towards the hallway leading to their rooms.

Alec furrows his brow. There aren’t any traces of a fight in this area of the Institute. He looks at the ground and finds it spotless. The only blood on the ground comes from his own shoe prints.

When his mother stops walking, he’s still analyzing his area like a crime scene investigator might.

“There,” he hears her croak. “There she is.”

Alec looks up and over his mother’s shoulder. For a few seconds, all he can do is stare while his mind tries to come to terms with what his eyes are seeing.

Izzy is sunken down to her knees, tears running down her face and smudging her mascara. A long slash mark cuts across her collar bone and spills blood down her torn shirt. But what catches Alec’s attention isn’t Izzy’s physical or emotional state.

It’s his baby brother being held in Izzy’s arms.

He feels his legs quaking as he shuffles past his mother to get a better look.

The chaos and destruction shrouding the Institute all fades away from Alec’s view. All he can focus on is Max. His shirt is ripped open, revealing a giant gaping wound in his chest. It looks like a blade went right through his abdomen. The shirt which was once gray is now an extremely dark red, painted with his own blood. His baby brother is curled up in his sister’s arms with his eyes closed, and for a second, he can almost pretend Max is just sleeping. His heart aches to believe that.

Alec’s legs feel like dead weight that he can’t keep upright anymore. He crashes down to his knees, not really feeling the pain when he connects with the floor. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and touches Max’s cheek.

Memories flood back to him of all the times he’s leaned down and cupped Max’s cheek to check him for injuries, reprimand him for his childish behavior, or express his pride in his baby brother’s high scores in his training class. Sometimes Max would playfully swat him away, claiming he was far too old to be fussed over, and other times he would revel in the attention. But his cheek was always warm and soft in Alec’s hand.

Now he just feels cold to the touch.

Alec places his other hand over his mouth to contain the scream that threatens to leave his lips. He feels it rippling deep within his stomach, fighting to come out.

Max is dead.

Max is _dead_.

 _Max is dead_.

His mind keeps hammering the words home over and over and over and _over and over_. His baby brother, who just had his rune ceremony and was so damn _excited_ to start his training and be just like his big siblings, is gone. There’s no amount of iratze runes in the world that can fix this.

He’s gone because Alec failed to keep him safe.

Hands gently rest on Alec’s shoulders, pressing the metal rings into his flesh. He’s distantly aware of who it is, but all he can see in this moment is Max and his pale face and his little lips turning blue and the little rune he just received months ago now faded in death and _oh god his little body is so tiny, he was so tiny and defenseless and Alec failed him_ -

“Alexander, darling, I have to check you for injuries.”

Alec just shakes his head in response, keeping his eyes on his little brother. The pungent smell of blood that he was easily able to ignore before now hits him waves. The coppery taste washes over his tongue, as if he’s swallowing it in buckets. His stomach flips over violently.

He’s going to vomit. If he stays here for another second, he’s going to vomit.

He finally looks up from his Max’s body and sees Jace pulling a hysterical Isabelle away.

“You have to heal him!” Izzy screeches at Magnus. “I don’t give a shit about me! _Just heal him!_ ”

Alec glances up from Izzy to glance at Jace, who keeps their sister in a tight hold to prevent her from throwing herself over Max’s body. Tears are flowing down his face, completely unchecked.

Alec looks over Magnus, craving some sort of stability. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for. He just knows that he wants Magnus to show him some sort of sign that it will be okay and that the world will keep turning come tomorrow.

All Magnus does is look back at him with so much sympathy in his eyes.

Alec gets up and rushes to his room, slamming the door behind him.

He shambles towards the bathroom, ripping off his torn shirt and pants along the way. He wants the remnants of the battle and the blood gone. Halfway to the toilet, he feels his legs give out as the adrenaline wears off and he collapses onto the floor. He crawls the rest of the way.

He can still taste the blood in his mouth like it’s coating his tongue. The smell permeates the air, but the only blood he can spot is coming from a wound on his stomach. He can’t escape it. All he sees when he closes his eyes is the gaping wound in Max’s chest, the congealed blood spilled across his shirt, his cheek that is _way too cold to the touch_ -

Alec grabs ahold of either side of the toilet and vomits up the cereal and orange juice he had earlier that morning.

It takes him vomiting three more times to finally get the taste of blood out of his mouth.


	3. Magnus II

It takes approximately nine hours for Magnus to heal everyone in the Institute who couldn’t heal themselves.

Nine long, grueling hours of healing barely-breathing Shadowhunters has left him nearly drained of his magic, not to mention the emotional toll it took on him. Magnus isn’t one to feel any sympathy for the holier-than-thou Shadowhunters, barring Alec and his immediate family, but even _he_ couldn’t help but take pity on the injured.

One man had lost his leg and was just barely conscious, mumbling some incoherent nonsense. He had lost too much blood for Magnus to have even a slight hope of saving him, so he moved on to the next person while the injured man slowly slipped into unconsciousness for the last time.

Another woman had a seraph blade halfway through her shoulder, deep enough to expose muscle and bone. She screamed the entire time Magnus healed her; loud, blood-curdling screams that he will never be able to forget. And that was far from the worst injury he had to heal that night.

In the end, Magnus made sure to save just enough energy to attend to the Lightwood siblings.

If only they would let him.

“NO!” Isabelle shouts, attempting to throw off Jace’s grip on her. “I don’t _want_ to be healed! I just want to see my brother! _Where did you take Max?!_ ”

Magnus sighs and rubs his hands together, letting his depleting magic spark up.

After the battle, Maryse took Max’s body to his room and placed him on his bed. The woman had been too overwhelmed with grief to know what else to do. Now she was here in Isabelle’s room, watching stoically while Magnus attempted to heal her hysterical daughter.

“Isabelle, dear,” Magnus begins, keeping his tone as gentle as possible. “Your mother and Jace will take you to see Max after I heal you, I promise. You just have to stay still for me for just a few seconds, okay? Can you do that for me?”

He uses the soft, comforting voice that he usually reserves for scared children. When Isabelle looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes and a quivering lower lip, he feels as if he _is_ talking to a scared child.

Though Alexander is the Lightwood that Magnus focuses on the most, he’s always been fond of Isabelle. She’s charming, deadly, and smart as a whip. Most importantly, she has always made an attempt to be Magnus’s friend. That’s a rarity for the High Warlock of Brooklyn. It pains him to see the usual playful glint in her eyes replaced with anguish.

He gives her a disarming smile and lets his hand hover over her collar bone. When it becomes obvious that Isabelle isn’t fighting it anymore, Jace loosens his hold on her.

The healing power flows out of Magnus’s palm, making quick work of Isabelle’s wound. She hisses in pain as her skin closes up under the blue mist. Once he’s sure his magical suture will hold, Magnus heaves a sigh and falls to his knees. Healing Nephilim and cajoling Isabelle took more energy out of him than he realized. He feels as though he could sleep the rest of the century away.

Isabelle looks up at him with heavy eyelids. Whether she’s exhausted from the injury or from spending the last few hours fighting off his many attempts to help her, Magnus doesn’t know. Maybe it’s both. Either way, he just prays to whatever Angel it is who would listen to a half-demon like him that she will sleep and find the peace she deserves.

Magnus stands up on trembling legs and begins trudging to the door, feeling as if he’s running on autopilot. He hasn’t seen Alexander since his boyfriend rushed away to his room to escape the sight of Max’s body. He feels the fierce urge to rush into his room, take him in his arms and assure him that everything is going to be okay, even though he knows very well that it won’t be.

In this case, he supposes it would be okay to lie.

Just as he’s about to reach the door, Maryse Lightwood gets up from her seat and places a tentative hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“I just wanted to say thank you for coming here when you did. You saved so many of us. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

The words pour of her so quickly that Magnus has to do a double take to make sure it’s real. He would have assumed Hell would freeze over before Maryse Lightwood thanked him for _anything_.

Normally, he would give her a tight smile and mutter something about how “it’s always a pleasure, Maryse”, if only for Alec’s sake, but not today. The woman lost a son tonight and has every right to be snippy to those around her, but she somehow found it within herself to thank someone she has never gotten along with. Magnus can put aside their sordid personal history, if just for today.

Tomorrow, however, all bets are off.

He raises a questioning eyebrow.

“You want to know how to repay me?” he asks. Maryse gives him the tiniest of nods.

Magnus takes a quick glance back at the Lightwood siblings.

Isabelle, who was insisting on seeing Max just a few minutes ago, is now buried in Jace’s arms. He can’t see her face, but he can tell by the way that her shoulders tremble that she’s sobbing violently. Magnus can only guess that she has finally realized, however painfully, that there’s no use in going to see Max.

Jace, meanwhile, looks like nothing less than the Golden Boy that could be the poster child for the perfect Nephilim warrior. He’s clutching Isabelle tightly, letting her cry into his shirt while not daring to shed a tear himself. But Magnus can see past the façade he puts up. The trembling hands and the twitching eye gives him away. Like his sister, he wants to scream and cry at the sheer unfairness of it all. He just feels as though he’s not allowed.

Magnus tears his gaze away from the two and looks back into Maryse’s tired eyes.

“Take care of them,” he begs.

Maryse opens her mouth to respond, but Magnus holds up a ringed finger as a sign for her to let him finish.

“Take care of them,” he repeats. “But take care of them in the way they deserve, not by encouraging them to repress all their feelings and be perfect little warriors. We’ve both seen what that nearly did to Alexander.”

Maryse flinches as if she’s just been smacked, but Magnus presses on.

“Let them know that it’s okay to feel whatever it is they feel. Let them cry and scream and rage if they need to. But most of all, _be there_ for them. They need their mother right now, not a drill sergeant. Okay?”

Maryse’s eyes fill up with tears again, and Magnus finds it slightly ironic that he just lectured a crying woman about how she should let her kids cry.

She swiftly wipes away the tears before the can trail down her cheeks.

“I love my children, Magnus Bane.”

“I never said you didn’t,” he replies coldly.

She purses her lips in obvious displeasure. A tense silence passes between the two of them, but Magnus refuses to leave until he gets the answer he wants.

Finally, when Maryse’s eyes are sufficiently dry, she speaks again.

“I promise to take care of them,” she croaks. “As long as you promise to take care of Alec.”

It takes a great amount of effort to contain his shock and simply nod back at her. It’s no secret that Maryse has never been the biggest supporter of Magnus or his relationship with her son. She’s made progress over the months, but she’s still not high on the list of Magnus’s favorite people.

Still, he won’t begrudge her this.

“Of course I will,” he swears. “I love Alexander. I would do anything for him.”

Maryse narrows her eyes at him, but not in her normal cold, calculating manner. She looks more like she’s trying to figure him out and decide whether or not he’s telling the truth. Whatever it is that she finds on his face, it must satisfy her, because she gives him a curt nod.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, brushing past him to go to her children. Magnus glances back and watches her kneel in front of Isabelle, speaking to her in hushed tones.

He slips out the door and walks down the eerily silent hallway. The further down the hall he walks, the more the stench of blood creeps in on him. It’s pungent the closer he gets to the training center, where the blood has still not been mopped up. It’s so strong that it reminds Magnus of walking the streets of France during the revolution, smelling the blood dripping off the guillotine blades after a string of mid-day executions.

His nose crinkles up in disgust. Despite all these centuries being at the forefront of the world’s bloodiest conflicts, he has never really gotten used to the stench of death.

When he reaches Alec’s door, he hesitates.

What could he possibly say or do to comfort him? Magnus can’t bring Max back, no matter how badly he wishes he could. He can’t siphon all the pain Alec is feeling and put it on his own shoulders. He can’t force Alec to mourn in a way Magnus believes is healthy. The only thing he can do is be his boyfriend’s shoulder to cry on.

And he’s more than willing to fulfil that position.

Magnus enters the room without knocking first, something he would ordinarily never do. He has a feeling that if he were to knock, Alec would never answer.

He takes a few hesitant steps into Alec’s room to find his boyfriend in the middle of pulling on a fresh shirt, a blank expression on his face. It briefly occurs to Magnus that this means Alec sat in his blood-soaked clothes for over nine hours.

He’s no therapist, but he’s fairly sure his old friend Freud would agree that’s something to be concerned about.

“Darling…?” Magnus begins, approaching him slowly.

Alec’s head snaps up. His eyes hold no traces of the pain or anger that Magnus spotted in the other Lightwoods, but he knows his boyfriend well enough to spot the cracks on the surface.

His muscles are tense, as if he’s still in the midst of a fight. His jaw is clenched so tightly that Magnus worries he’ll pull a muscle. His fingers twitch slightly as he smooths out his shirt.

Alexander is far from okay.

“I’m sorry to rush away, Magnus, but I have to contact the Clave and my father,” he declares. Magnus sees right through the flimsy excuse.

Alec strides towards the door, but Magnus reaches out and places a hand on his chest to stop him. Alec purses his lips in a way that eerily reminds Magnus of Maryse Lightwood.

“Your mother already took care of all that,” he tells his boyfriend gently.

Alec’s face collapses for the briefest second as his excuse to escape falls apart in front of him, but he’s quick to mask it with his usual stony expression. Magnus wants to rage, to scream, to blast the Clave and the Lightwood family to Hell for ever making Alec believe that he had to be so strong _all the damn time_.

“I should help with the clean-up at least,” Alec insists, a little firmer this time.

He makes another attempt to bypass Magnus, but the Warlock places both hands on his chest and gently pushes him back.

He’s familiar with Alexander’s habit of busying himself with various tasks in order to distract himself from his negative feelings. How many times has Alec cleaned up the loft after a disaster just to avoid talking? Magnus knows that if he lets Alec go now, he’ll bottle it all up and let it explode later.

And he’ll be damned if he has to see his Alexander on the ledge of a balcony _ever_ again.

“That’s being taken care of as well, dear,” he informs him. “Your mother wants you to rest. Jace and Isabelle are taking the rest of the day off. You should too.”

Alec groans and breaks away from Magnus, running a hand through his messy black hair in frustration.

“Magnus, I’m the Head of the Institute now,” he asserts. “I can’t just shirk my duties any time I feel like it. Especially when half these people don’t think I’m fit for the job to begin with.”

Magnus sighs and gently intertwines his hand with Alec’s. The familiar weight and warmth is like a security blanket to him.

“Alexander, no one is going to think you’re a bad leader if you decide to sit this one out,” he assures him. “You didn’t get a little scrape on your elbow while fighting a Ravener demon. You just lost your brother.”

Alec flinches back.

“You think I don’t already know that?”

Magnus places his other hand on Alec’s cheek, delicately brushing his thumb across the smooth skin. He can _feel_ how badly Alec wants to break and give into being comforted, just as badly as Magnus wants to be able to provide him comfort, but neither of them know how to go about it. There’s no brochure at the free clinic entitled “What To Do When Your Shadowhunter Boyfriend’s Brother is Killed in Battle”.

“Would you like to lay down with me?” Magnus asks.

Alec raises an eyebrow.

“We could cuddle,” he throws in lamely.

Alec’s lips tug upwards into a ghost of a grin, much to Magnus’s relief. Part of him was scared that this event could rob him of ever seeing Alec’s adorably impish little grin again.

“I don’t need to be babied, Magnus,” he reprimands. Despite his words of protest, his arms are already wrapped around Magnus’s waist and he walks them both backwards towards the bed. Magnus smiles sadly.

“Maybe I do then.”

They both tumble forward onto the unexpectedly plush mattress with their arms wrapped around each other.

Magnus burrows his head into his Alexander’s chest and listens to the strong, steady heartbeat that has been his lullaby for the past few months. It’s a reminder that his boyfriend, his strong and passionate and _achingly mortal_ boyfriend, is still with him. That heart still pumps angelic blood through his veins, and it will hopefully continue to do so for many more years to come.

Magnus doesn’t want to think about how Max’s heart stopped beating far too soon.

Alec rests his cheek on Magnus’s hair and lets out a contended sigh. His soft breaths tickle the shaved side of Magnus’s scalp in a way he’s grown used to.

No, Alexander isn’t okay. He may never be “okay” again.

But Magnus won’t stop helping him try to get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the inconsistent updates. Ya girl is doing a lot of travelling this summer. That being said, I hope to be able to update sooner next time!


	4. Alec II

“If you’re so hungry, Jace, I could make some mac n’ cheese real quick.”

“No offense, Izzy, but I’d rather accept food from a Shax demon.”

“Really, Jace? It’s out of a box. How badly could I mess up?”

“The last time you tried to make us oatmeal out of the box, it literally stuck to the bowl. We couldn’t even clean it out. I had to bury it on the Institute grounds before Maryse could notice it was gone.”

“Oh, don’t be a baby.”

“I am _not_ a baby. My body is a temple and I refuse to clog up its arteries with your putrid cooking.”

Alec groans and rests his head on the granite counter-top in front of him.

It’s been a hell of a day.

Jace, Izzy, and Alec are all decked out in their best white garments, standing around the island in the kitchen. They just barely managed to escape the horde of other Shadowhunters showering them with disingenuous “my condolences” and their pitiful gifts in some sort of sick attempt to kiss up to Alec now that he’s the Head of the New York Institute.

It disgusts him.

Now, they’re trying to scrounge up something for lunch. None of them have eaten yet today. There was no time for breakfast this morning. Or time for dinner last night…

“You could just eat some of the food the mourners left,” Alec suggests. Jace wrinkles his nose at the thought.

“I’m not eating chocolate cake for lunch, Alec,” he insists. “I’m not some sort of _animal_.”

Alec rolls his eyes.

Two days after Max’s death and Jace is already back to his insufferably endearing self. Izzy isn’t quite the same, but at least she got up and put makeup on this morning. And Alec… he’s functioning.

They’re all okay, but it’s the fragile kind of okay. It’s the “if someone brings it up then we’ll all start crying so we’ll just avoid the topic altogether and pretend nothing happened” kind of okay. All of them are teetering on the edge of sadness every second of every day, but they actively choose to ignore it. Pretend-happy is the only happy they can be right now. And that’s as good as they can get.

“Jace, I’ve seen you eat dried pasta right out of the box,” Izzy claims.

Jace pouts.

“Fine, I guess I’ll just starve.”

Alec punches his parabatai in the arm, earning him a half-hearted glare.

The sound of heels clicking on the hard linoleum floor immediately brings all three siblings to attention. Alec hopes it isn’t his mother approaching. He’s barely been able to look her in the eye these past few days without feeling an immense amount of guilt gnaw at him.

Much to his relief, Lydia Branwell strides towards them with a Tupperware container in her hands.

“I brought homemade mac n’ cheese,” Lydia offers shyly.

Jace busts out into a wide smile and reaches out, taking the food from her.

“Lydia Branwell, I could kiss you.”

She wrinkles her nose in feigned disgust.

“I’d rather you not.”

_Now_ Alec remembers why he missed Lydia’s company so much.

He wraps her into an albeit slightly awkward hug and grabs her hand once they break apart.

“Thanks for coming,” he tells her sincerely. “I’ve missed having you here. Who else is gonna boss me around in my own Institute?”

His words are teasing, lacking any bite. She smiles back at him with her all her teeth and Alec briefly allows himself to imagine what life would have been like, waking up to that smile every day.

Sure, the marriage would have been loveless, but they would have grown to become friends; best friends, even. They’d both have lovers on the side and a silent agreement not to speak about it to each other. Maybe they’d muddle their way through sex in order to produce a few heirs to the Lightwood family name. It wouldn’t have been an _awful_ existence. Just not a good one.

He may have missed her company, but now he can remember why she left.

“I missed bossing you around,” she teases. “But it seems like you’re doing a good job keeping the parabatai in line.”

Alec looks to the side and sees Jace digging into the mac n’ cheese with a giant serving spoon. Izzy is looking at him with disgust.

_Charming._

Lydia clears her throat uncomfortably and digs into her bag.

“I have some cards from Idris,” she says. Alec swears he can hear shame in her voice, though he can’t imagine why.

“Cards?” he asks.

She sighs and takes a small bundle out of her bag, handing them to Alec. He glances at the top of the pile. In large cursive letters are the words, “ _Sorry For Your Loss”_.

Bile rises in his throat.

“When people heard I would be attending the funeral, I suddenly became their messenger,” she sighs.

Just looking down at the pile of cards in his hand makes Alec angry. He’s not angry at Lydia; she seems just as disgusted by it as he is. He’s angry at everyone who thought cheap cards could dissipate his grief. He’s angry at the Clave for sending in mourners for hire who barely knew Max’s name.

He’s angry at whatever deity it is who would allow this to happen in the first place.

Jace scoffs and picks up one of the cards like it’s carrying an infectious disease.

“What bullshit,” he grumbles.

Izzy shoots him a glare.

“People are just trying to be nice, Jace,” she hisses.

“People are just trying to kiss up,” he retorts. “These people don’t give a shit about us, and they don’t give a shit about Max.”

Alec rubs his temples, feeling another headache coming on. That’s the third one today.

“Jace, give it a rest,” he begs. “There’s nothing wrong with people trying to be civil.”

Even as he says the words, they taste like acid on his tongue. There’s _everything_ wrong with these people being civil.

And Jace knows it too.

“ _Civil_? Was it civil when they tried to take the Institute from us? Or when they wanted to arrest me? How about when they wouldn’t give you the position of Head of the Institute just because you’re into guys?”

“ _Enough_ ,” Izzy snaps. Her glare is so dark that it even causes Alec and Lydia to look down at the counter in shame, as if _they_ did something wrong. Jace deflates slightly.

“All I’m saying is, these cards and food don’t mean shit to me,” he insists. “They’re not bringing Max back.”

The four of them fall into an uncomfortable silence.

Jace said what Alec was thinking, but was too polite to say. Food and cards and pity can do nothing to fill the void Max left. There’s not enough chocolate cake in the world to make Alec’s heart stop aching for his little brother. It’s something that will never go away.

“I should be getting back to Idris,” Lydia finally says, breaking the silence. “I’m sorry for rushing off so quickly. I have some business to attend to.”

Alec heaves a sigh of relief and gives her a quick side hug. It’s not that he doesn’t want her around _specifically_. He’d just prefer no one being around him at the moment.

“Send me a fire message sometime,” he prods. She gives him a sort of half smile and nod in response.

Izzy gives Lydia a stiff hug and Jace gives her a grumbled “goodbye”. Alec resists the urge to scold them on their manners. He can’t expect much from them right now.

Lydia turns on her heels and starts to walk out of the kitchen, but she bumps into a figure walking towards the kitchen.

“I’m so sorr-… Oh, Mr. Lightwood.”

Alec’s head snaps up.

His father looks past Lydia and meets his eyes. He wears a standard white suit, typical for mourning. He’s freshly shaven, but the bags under his red-rimmed eyes betray his put-together appearance. He’s just as devastated as the rest of the family.

In this moment, Alec couldn’t give less of a damn about his father’s feelings.

Lydia gives him a quick hello before brushing past him, and Robert enters the room. He takes tentative steps forward. Alec glances at his siblings and sees they both have their arms folded across their chests and a hard look in their eyes. That must be the reason why Robert looks as though he’s stepping into a cage with a group of Ravener demons.

“Dad,” Izzy says tersely.

“Robert,” Jace echoes. His glare is especially hard.

Jace is known to hold grudges the best out of all three of them.

Robert nods at both of them, somewhat stiffly. Alec stays silent and rigid against the counter. His head pounds with unwanted thoughts and questions.

_Why weren’t you here for the funeral?_

_Why weren’t you here to stop this from happening?_

_Why did you cheat on Mom?_

_How could you?_

“Dad,” he grounds out. “May I speak to you in the hallway?”

Robert nods stiffly and follows Alec out of the kitchen. He drags his feet, most likely because he knows what this conversation will be about.

On the short walk to the dorm hallway, Alec struggles to compose himself. He knows if he starts speaking now, he’ll blow up into a supernova of righteous fury. Hurling accusations at his father will accomplish nothing but to get them both fuming. That’s the last thing anyone needs on the day of Max’s funeral. He needs to approach this calmly and rationally, with all the stoicism that has been instilled in him since birth. It’s time to act like the Head of the Institute would.

“Where the hell have you been?”

_Nailed it._

Robert heaves a tired sigh. Alec resists the urge to punch him in the throat.

He has the _nerve_ to act as though _he’s_ the one suffering?

“Alec, I swear, I just received your mother’s fire message today –,”

“Because you were too busy entertaining your mistress to look?” Alec interrupts.

Robert stiffens. His entire face turns a bright red in shame. Some sadistic part of Alec revels in it. Robert _deserves_ to feel uncomfortable for what he’s done to the family and to his mother.

“Alec, it isn’t like that,” Robert pleads. “Nothing is more important to me than my children. Absolutely nothing.”

Alec barks out a laugh.

“Is that why you haven’t been by to see us in months?” he asks sardonically.

The shame grows stronger in Robert’s eyes.

“I know I’ve been a coward,” he admits. “I didn’t want to face you or your mother after what I did. There are no words to express to you how guilty I feel that I wasn’t here when –,”

“Stop,” Alec interjects. “Don’t even talk about it.”

As far as he’s concerned, Robert has no right to talk about Max.

Alec knows he should leave the subject alone, but all semblance of rational thought has gone out the window. His rage is guiding him.

“Do you know what you did to Mom?” he blurts out. “Or what you did to Izzy? Jace? _Me_?”

Robert gapes at his son helplessly, unable to find words to defend himself. Alec doesn’t give him the opportunity to answer.

“We trusted you. _Max_ trusted you. He trusted you to keep him safe. And you broke that trust beyond repair.”

Robert flinches as if he’s just been slapped. That probably would have been preferable. The truth always hurts more than a slap, in Alec’s opinion.

“Alec…” he croaks.

“You chose a fling over your own family,” Alec continues. “You chose her over your own _kids_. You failed as a husband, as a father, by the Angel, you even failed as a _leader_. I can’t even look at you without feeling disgust. Maybe Izzy and Jace and even _Mom_ can forgive you, but I can’t. I won’t. As long as you’re in this institute, you better stay the hell away from me.”

An angry smirk stretches across Alec’s face.

“And that’s an order straight from the Head of the Institute.”

He takes a victorious glimpse of Robert’s shocked expression before storming off in the opposite direction. Once he’s out of earshot of his father, he pulls out his cellphone and dials a very familiar number. The person on the other end answers almost immediately.

“Magnus? Hey, I’m sorry to be a bother, but can I come over? You won’t believe the day I’ve had…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter before 2x16 where Alec confronted Robert. I just couldn't pass up the drama. And can we just talk about that promo for 2x18? I'm so worried for Max! And I hope you guys won't lose interest in this story if Max's death becomes canon!


	5. Magnus III

It was a call from a very concerned Clary that woke Magnus up from a much needed nap and got him to rush to the Institute on a Sunday evening, nearly a week after the funeral. 

“Alec’s been training since 6am,” she had whispered into the phone. “It’s been over 10 hours and I don’t think he’s taken a single break. None of us can talk any sense into him. Can you please talk him down? We’re all really-... Jace, by the Angel, calm down! I’m on the phone with him right now! And no, I’m not going to ask him why he didn’t answer your texts.”

It didn’t take more than 5 minutes for Magnus to portal to the Institute and rush inside.

He marches right past some very confused Shadowhunters and makes his way to the training center. He hears Alec before he sees him; the Institute echoes with the slapping sounds his limbs make when they connect with a punching bag and the hard grunts he makes from the exertion. Magnus’s heart aches when he finally catches a glimpse of his boyfriend.

Alec’s body gleams from head to toe with sweat. It soaks through his simple black clothing and mats down his black hair. He’s furiously beating a punching bag that seems dangerously close to coming undone by the seams. His body is quaking, obviously overexerted. However, he keeps on going, as if this is his punishment; his _penance_.

_Oh, Alexander..._

Magnus spots Jace at the edge of the training center, keeping a strange amount of distance between himself and Alec. Magnus would have guessed that Jace would be trying to help his parabatai. He approaches the Nephilim, still keeping his eyes glued to Alec’s form.

“You didn’t answer my texts.”

Magnus resists the strong urge to punch the cocky blond in the throat. The _one_ time this week he was allowed to sleep without any interruptions...

“I was taking a nap,” he hisses, too low for Alec to overhear. “Why hasn’t anyone stopped him?”

Jace barely spares him a look. He’s too focused on his parabatai, deep concern set into his features.

Magnus feels a stab of guilt for doubting his worry, even for the briefest second. It’s obvious he’s just as concerned as Magnus is.

“He’s yelled at everyone who’s tried,” he whispers back. “Told me to fuck off. I won’t repeat what he said to Robert. He even yelled at Izzy. He _never_ yells at Izzy.”

Jace shakes his head, almost as if to himself.

“I’m used to seeing him angry. He’s been angry at so many things for years. But the one thing he’s never angry at is his family. It’s… weird.”

It sounds totally out of character of his Alexander to yell at someone he cares about. He’s loyal above all else, compassionate when he wants to be, and one of the most caring people Magnus has ever had the privilege to call a lover. But grief does strange things to people. Magnus knows that better than most.

“Leave it to me,” he says to the blond.

Jace nods and rushes off to Lilith knows where.

 _Probably to drool over Clary_ , Magnus thinks sardonically.

When he steps towards Alec, the smell of sweat and blood hits him like a tidal wave. It’s that cloying type of smell that sticks to the inside of his nose and makes him want to gag and wash the place down in a mixture of holy water and cologne. The heat of the training center only makes it more gag worthy.

Magnus is careful not to get in Alec’s way. In this state, it’s entirely possible that his boyfriend could accidentally hit him. He doesn’t care about his own wellbeing. He’s had far worse than a punch to the gut. He’s not the High Warlock for a lack of fighting. He just wants to spare Alec the guilt. The Nephilim absorbs guilt like a sponge.

And it’s that guilt that makes him punch things until his fists are raw and bloody.

“Alexander?” he calls hesitantly.

If his boyfriend heard him, he isn’t giving any indication.

Now that he’s up close, he can see the bloody fist prints on the punching bag. Some look fresh, while others are already dry and crusted.

_Just how long have Alexander’s knuckles been bleeding?_

He’s familiar with some of Alec’s more… _concerning_ habits in a way that most people aren’t. Overworking oneself is common amongst Shadowhunters; expected, even. It’s easy for Alec to pretend that training until he’s black and blue is normal. But Magnus is a bit harder to fool. He knows that the destructive habit is just a precursor to standing on the ledge of a balcony, prepared to jump.

He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek.

_No, that memory isn’t something he needs to rehash right now._

Magnus knows it’s a risky move that could very well earn him a fist to the face, but he can’t take it anymore. He grabs Alec by the arm and pulls him back.

He feels Alec’s muscles spasm under his fingertips, a sign of their fatigue.

“What is it, Magnus?” Alec snaps, snatching his arm back. “I’m kinda preoccupied right now, if you couldn’t tell.”

Magnus does his best not to feel hurt. He reminds himself that it’s the repressed grief and stress talking. Alexander would normally never use that tone with him.

“You’ve been ‘preoccupied’ all day,” Magnus shoots back. “If you don’t take a break soon, we’ll have to scrape you off the mat later.”

Alec shoots him a withering gaze. Meanwhile, Magnus lets his eyes quickly roam over Alec’s body.

On his left forearm, in a place he would easily be able to reach, a rune that Magnus recognizes as the stamina rune lies. The black mark nearly covers up the litany of silver scars from the same rune being applied over and over again in the same general area.

“I’m sick of people treating me like I could shatter at any second,” Alec hisses. “I don’t _need_ a break. I know my own limits.”

 _Is that why you had to draw the stamina rune on your arm 500 times?_ Magnus wants to ask.

Instead, he grabs Alec’s hand and squeezes it in a way he hopes conveys his concern.

“No one is saying that you’re fragile. No one thinks any less of you, Alexander. Everyone deals with grief in -,”

Alec rips his hand away.

“I’m fine!” he yells.

The hustle and bustle of the Institute immediately ceases as everybody stops to stare at their Head in shock. If a pin were to drop, its echo would be heard throughout the entire control center.

Some people start whispering to each other, no doubt exchanging theories about a break up or a mental breakdown. Magnus wants nothing more than to blast them all to Hell for staring at his boyfriend as if he’s some sort of _animal_ in a zoo and not a man mourning the loss of his brother.

Alec must have noticed the deafening silence because he turns his head to face his subordinates.

“I’m fine!” he yells at them, as if he feels he need to convince the entire world of his mental stability.

He looks between the Shadowhunters and Magnus in frustration, and Magnus aches to hold the younger man in his arms. He wants to tell him that it’s okay to miss someone so bad that it hurts. He wants to hug him until the tears finally come out. Most of all, he wants to heal his wounds and tell him that hurting himself on the outside will do nothing to heal the inside.

“Everyone just stay the hell away from me!” Alec shouts, directed at nobody in particular. “Get back to work or I’ll have you all transferred to the Institute of Bismark before the day is out!”

He brushes past Magnus as he storms off, and Magnus just… watches him leave.

He watches as the Institute’s Shadowhunters jump out of the way to avoid Alec as he rushes past them all. He longs to follow him, but he knows that nothing he has to say will help. If Alec wishes to be alone, Magnus has to respect that. 

No matter how much it makes his heart feel as though it’s being ripped from his chest.

Just as the Nephilim begin to get back to their posts and Magnus to considering leaving, Isabelle Lightwood elbows her way through the crowd to run up to Magnus.

“Alec just ran past me in the hallway like Valentine was on his heels,” she says. “I’m guessing your talk didn’t go too well?”

Magnus sighs and rubs his face. He’s so tired. So fucking tired. 

“It could have gone better,” he begrudgingly admits.

Isabelle’s shoulders deflate as she runs a hand through her long raven locks. Like Magnus, she looks like she hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in days. The concealer under her eyes does little to hide the bags.

Guilt washes over him. He’s thought so little about Isabelle’s wellbeing this past week. Alexander may be his boyfriend, but Isabelle has slowly become a dear friend of his. And he should be there for her as well. 

Without another thought, he wraps her up in a firm hug.

“Don’t worry about it,” he reassures her. “He just needs time to come to terms with everything. You all do.” 

Isabelle melts into the hug, placing her chin on Magnus’s shoulder.

“I know, but I can’t help but be worried about him,” she mumbles. “And with everything going on with the Clave investigation…”

Magnus pulls away to look her in the eyes.

“What Clave investigation?”

His tone is clipped and tightly controlled. Any mention of the Clave means Magnus is instantly prepared to be annoyed.

Isabelle purses her lips.

“We pushed the Clave to launch an investigation into who picked and veted those envoys they sent us. They told us they would ‘look into it’.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. Over four centuries of dealing with the Clave has shown him exactly how much their “promises” mean. He’d sooner trust the Seelie Queen.

“We got a fire message yesterday. The investigation is over. Just like that. They said they found no evidence of traitors in their ranks. They said it was an isolated incident perpetrated by a few radicals.”

_‘An isolated incident’._

Magnus feels his palms beginning to burn with involuntary magic.

He should have known that the Clave wouldn’t do _shit_ about the atrocity that _they_ let happen. They pretend to care about their own kind, but their negligence is the reason Max Lightwood died. Now they refuse to take responsibility for it.

No wonder why Alec is pissed. Magnus is having trouble putting out the red flames sparking in his palms.

“You know I love you and your family, Isabelle, but your kind disgusts me,” Magnus spits.

Isabelle barks out a humourless laugh.

“Me too. Do you know any nice Werewolf packs I could marry into?”

Magnus chuckles. It feels strange coming from his mouth. It’s been so long since he’s allowed himself simple pleasures such as laughing or smiling or flirting with his boyfriend. It’s like he’s inserted himself into the Lightwood family and started to mourn alongside them.

Silence falls over the two of them, both of them obviously lost in their thoughts. Without a distraction, Magnus can see the tiredness creeping its way back onto Isabelle’s face. He reaches out and rubs her arm comfortingly.

“How are you doing? Really?”

She gives him a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Not great,” she admits. “Some days are fine, some days are awful, and some days are something in between. I know it’s gonna take a long time until I feel okay again.”

He nods and squeezes her shoulder. He didn’t expect a much better answer. After seeing the way she was sobbing and screaming over Max’s body, he’s just happy she isn’t handling the grief like her older brother.

“You can drop by the loft whenever you need something or if you just want to talk,” he promises. “You’re family to me, okay?”

Isabelle smiles at him again. But this time, her dark-brown eyes glimmer along with it.

“I guess there are worse people I could have to call my brother-in-law,” she teases.

Magnus makes a little choking sound in the back of his throat.

“Isn’t it a tad bit premature to start calling me your brother-in-law?” he asks.

She smirks.

“Don’t worry, I’m patient.”

Magnus shifts around in his spot uncomfortably, feeling his cheeks beginning to heat up. He would be lying if he said the thought of one day marrying Alexander didn’t make his heart race and his palms sweat.

He mentally admonishes himself,

_How old are you? 102? Gain some composure._

“Is there anything else you need, Isabelle?” he asks in a voice an octave higher than usual.

She giggles and slaps him on the shoulder playfully.

“Nope, I’ll let you run off get back to High Warlock business now,” she says. “As long as you promise to come back soon.”

He smiles softly and gives her one last quick hug.

“Of course. I would die of boredom otherwise.”

The two break apart and say their goodbyes before Magnus leaves the Institute and portals home.

And then heads straight for his bedroom.

Work can wait.

He’s going back to sleep for the next 24 hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Max is still alive, but Malec is on a break (NOT broken up and you can FIGHT ME ON THIS).  
> Ya win some ya lose some, y'know.  
> Thank y'all for reading and if you enjoyed please feel free to leave a review!

**Author's Note:**

> I really love what they've done with Max on the show, but now that Sebastian is a character, I'm just WAITING for Max to die. And I am not prepared.


End file.
